


Making a Shepard

by Mordred_Dantete



Series: Making a Shepard [1]
Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Gen, Lone Survivor, Thresher Maws (Mass Effect)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:00:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26316838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mordred_Dantete/pseuds/Mordred_Dantete
Summary: After distress calls come in from the pioneer colony on Akuze, the Alliance deploys a full squad of marines to investigate and render assistance to the colony.  One marine makes it out.  No one leaves intact.A short story about events prior to the start of Mass Effect.
Series: Making a Shepard [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1912189
Kudos: 1





	1. Prologue: Akuze

**Author's Note:**

> This will probably read rather disjointed, or fragmented. Word was yelling at me a lot about sentence fragments. That was intentional. The events on Akuze are chaotic and traumatic. I tried putting just a little bit of that into the writing, like it was a memory more than half blocked.

It all happened so fast. They all had felt the vibrations in the ground. Some sort of aftershocks. An earthquake must have knocked out communication from the Pioneer team. But the abandoned buildings and radio signals of dead air told another, much less optimistic story. They were all tense, sure, moving slowly, guns up. They could hear a lonely radio from one of the buildings, still playing some song on repeat. They were going that direction first. Then it was nothing but blood and screaming and gunfire. Tentacles, claws, some massive, segmented monster screaming so loud it nearly blew out their eardrums even with the helmet’s hearing protection. What could they do but run? Run and try to warn the others before…

(It all goes…)

Two monsters? Or just two ends of the same freakish thing? It had struck the landing zone too, wrapped around the landing craft, tore it in half, dragged it underground crew and all. The Commander turned to shout orders at his XO, but Franklin was not there. Bursting sand, spray of blood, and some sickly colored feeler wrapped around Franklin’s neck. Blood, and then he was gone. Pulled under the ground. The Commander was screaming, getting men in order. Grab what’s left, get to the settlement, and get cover in the buildings. They moved, grabbing what they could. Follow orders, the Commander would keep them alive. That N7 on his armor couldn’t just be for show…

(…black and then…)

The ground opened up right under them and swallowed six marines. More blood. More screaming. The Commander was thrown to the ground. Two roars, one a man screaming “FIRE!” the other the monster drowning him out. Preacher fumbled his pistol off his belt, still dragging supplies. Twenty men opened fire. It rose out of the ground, a maw seven meters wide, nothing but teeth, just going down and down. The rest of the men split left, taking advantage of the covering fire to make for the nearest building. Claws. Another three marines scythed down. Shields, armor, it meant nothing. Adams had a rocket launcher. Why? No one cared anymore. The explosion barely seemed to scuff the huge body. The monster shrieked, vanishing underground in an instant. But they could feel it. Still there, squirming under them.

(…white again…)

It was dark, and very cold. They ate rations in silence. Twenty marines hunkered down in one building with maybe ten more in the building across the way. The Commander was on watch, pressed against the wall, peering out of the window, staying out of sight. Preacher was nearby. He moved between the men, checked rations, ammo, took stock. He prayed with those who wanted. He said words for the dead. Keeping spirits up, keeping hope alive. Toombs wanted to know just how fucked they were. The Commander assigned duties, told the men to sleep, others to keep watch. No one slept.

(…but in the end…)

Just noise. The monster rammed the opposite building, tendrils, things, wrapped around the walls. The marines inside screamed, shouted: orders, pleas, prayers. The Commander was screaming at them. Long rifles to the windows, Adams and his launcher, one rocket left. They opened fire. The monster shrieked. It did not let go of the building. Two marines leaned out the windows of the far building, shooting, defiant. Tentacles, slammed, smeared, red stains on the walls. 

(…noise and blood…)

“Bendis! Bendis!” Preacher shook the man, trying to get his attention. “Bendis we have to move!” The whole building was shaking. The monster was squirming about under them. It had to be. The Commander was rounding everyone up, grabbing the supplies. Bendis was not moving, just braced in the window with his rifle, waiting. Some of the men were screaming. Jacobs had all but dissolved right in front of them; struck square by a stream of that monster’s spit. It spit acid, what kind of nightmare was this? “Bendis!” Preacher shook him again, but this time the marine slumped away from the window, falling to the ground. His face was covered in blood. A series of small holes burned through his cheek and down his neck. Acid spray, gotten into his blood, or just burned through and he bled to death. 

(…fire and pain…)

Rations were cut, but not for the biotics. The rest complained, but only for the sake of it. Four days since the landing. Fifteen marines left. Five ruined buildings behind them as they got driven further into the town. Adams was dead. The launcher discarded days ago. The monsters would not leave. Some of the men speculated. Some cried. Preacher had stopped praying for salvation last night. Tonight he stopped praying altogether. The Commander stayed focused. He had a job to do. Keep the men safe. Complete the mission. Find out what was going on. Kill the monsters.

(…is it better…)

“Biotics up front! Barriers up! Fire! Fire! Fire! Break!” Ten men now. Food for biotics. No water. “Reform the line! Biotics Front!” They staggered back, collapsing lines, covering fire. “Fire! Fire! Fire! Break!” One at a time. “Reform the line!” 

(…than giving up?)

Near the center of the settlement, their formation broke. The Commander sent them into a building for cover, hold. Lure it in. The monster spit at them. No time, just Preacher and Toombs outside. Preacher threw up his barrier, acid washing over it. It had held before. Somehow. This time it broke. Toombs pulled him inside and they both collapsed. Their armor was pitted and hissing from the spray, but held. Barely. The monster latched on to the building again, gnawing at it, crushing it. They could see its teeth tearing through the wall. They did not run. Seven men left, all going to die, but taking at least one of the monsters with them. They piled the last of their grenades, anything flammable or explosive they had scavenged over the last two days, right under the maw. The Commander set the detonator, and they ran. He did not know if they were clear, but he triggered it anyway. Nothing happened. Dud? Dead? Damaged? Smith snatched the detonator out of his hand and ran back inside, throwing up barriers to keep them out. No time. They ran, six men now. The building went up. The monster howled. Fell. Thrashed. Lay still. 

(Or is it worse…)

Andrews ate his gun while on watch. Two teams, split up to divide the last monster’s attention. Food was gone. Ammo was low. No explosives. Dustin, Lance, and Toombs went West. Preacher and the Commander went East. They could feel it now from the center of town, the central complex, a deep sound or vibration setting their teeth on edge and driving into their bones. Split up, one team would make it. The monster would get the other. Survivors investigate. Find out what happened. Finish the mission. Die. They ran, starving, dehydrated, and dying. The monster roared crashing off after the others. Preacher and the Commander heard the screams and gunfire, that horrible roar, then just the vibrations, the rumbles. Two men left. 

(…so much worse…)

The center of the colony was the research station. The walls were thick, reinforced to absurdity. Or at least they would have thought that a week ago. Walls and walls and electrical barriers and more walls. That deep thudding vibration shaking their eyes in their head. Crates of supplies littered everywhere. Every one of them was stamped with the same symbol, a tall hexagon, like a sharp 0. The heart of the facility was a dome over bare earth. A huge piston, like a coring drill without the drill. It rose and fell, hammering the ground, causing that vibration, that noise. 

They both dug into the computers, sifting through commands. The systems held data, had recorded the colony slaughter. This thing was calling the monsters and jamming communications. Controls were locked so they used the last of their ammo to destroy the generators. The facility went dark. The huge thumper stopped before their teeth vibrated out of their jaws. 

The Commander brought up his omnitool, trying again for the Alliance emergency frequency. He called for evac, and for a miracle, they answered. Help was coming at last for the last of them.

Exhausted, hungry, shaking, the Commander clapped Preacher on the shoulder. “Mission accomplished. You did it. Going to give thanks, Preacher.”

The younger man was silent, shifting uncomfortably. “I don’t think that’s my thing anymore, sir.”

The Commander nodded, hesitated. “I suppose not Sergeant. But do me a favor; say a prayer for the dead, for us.” He patted the marine on the shoulder and started to walk back out the way they had come. “I’ll be outside.” 

The sergeant watched him go. He didn’t kneel. He just placed a hand over his heart, closed his eyes. He prayed, for the last time, going over the names of every soldier lost. He could not remember them all. He was so tired. He had to bring up his omnitool, going down the list. Halfway through he heard the single gunshot echo down the corridor. He paused, then continued, adding Commander Wilks to the list of the dead.

(…to be the only one left?)

When the rescue team, the second rescue team, arrived they found one marine left. He was sitting in the open, head on his knees. In one hand he held more than twenty dog tags. Less than half of the team’s bodies accounted for. The rescue team approached him with weapons drawn, not sure what had happened.

“Marine, report.” The soldier leaned over, seeing the scuffed bars on his pauldron. “Sergeant, what’s your name?”

The survivor looked up, eyes glassy and unseeing. “Shepard,” he said, “Sergeant Elijah Shepard. N4”

They took Shepard away, rushing him off to medical. On Akuze he left behind forty nine marines and a small silver crucifix, pressed into Wilks’s hand.


	2. Prologue: The Candidate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Choosing a candidate for the first ever human Spectre requires deliberation and consensus.

It was the kind of back room meeting that reporters liked to speak of as the threat to democracy, security, and the trust of the people. They often described them as ‘shady’ with powerful people smoking in a dark room behind closed doors. It was true that the door was closed, however the continual artificial sunlight of the Presidium never stopped so the open and airy office was bright as the ideal, halcyon days on any garden world. Further, none of the three men smoked. Instead their refreshment was a large pitcher of water, mostly empty after hours of discussion.

The men were gathered at the small sitting area in the office of the human embassy on the Citadel, each of them looking over at least two datapads, being their personal notes as well as the official documentation. The haggard looks on their faces speaking to a long, frustrating conversation and long hours of research.

Donnel Udina leaned back in his seat with a sigh, setting his personal datapad in his lap and scrolling through several pages of data on the other. “Alright. Give me the run down on Shepard.”

David Anderson tried not to show his satisfaction, taking a quiet breath as he started navigating through the data in front of him as well. He had been trying to be subtle in steering the conversation in this direction. He began speaking as he sifted through the data, as if from memory.

“Lieutenant Commander Elijah Shepard. L3 Biotic. N7 graduate. Rapid Response Team Leader.” Anderson scrolled up his notes, finally finding the desired spot, but still hardly glanced at them, speaking mostly from memory, not realizing he was surely giving away to Udina his preferences. “Colony kid. Grew up on Mindoir-“

That got the third man’s attention. Steven Hackett leaned forward, reapplying his focus to the conversation. “Mindoir?” he asked as he paged through his own notes to keep up. “Was that before… or after…?”

Udina glanced between the military men, but said nothing. They all knew to what Hackett referred and Anderson answered the hanging question directly. “During.”

Hackett rubbed the bridge of his nose and settled back into his chair. “Jesus…”

Anderson waited for further input, and when none was presented he continued. “Shepard was one of the few to get out of there. The response team found him, got him out safe. Though only him, none of his family made it.” Anderson paused, the three men remembering the horrors of what the Batarians did. “He knows how tough things can be out there. Tried joining up even before he was eighteen, got his implants, and started impressing people.” Anderson went quiet for a few moments after that, letting the other two read over the start of the service records. 

Hackett was the one to speak up. “Hang on. Akuze? I remember this, Shepard was the only one extracted. He saw his whole unit die there and was in the hospital for weeks. I’m starting to detect a pattern here Captain, one where Shepard is the only one to walk away.”

Anderson nodded and reached for his nearly empty glass. He drained the rest of the water, warm by now, and gave Hackett a faint grin. “Believe me Admiral; Shepard is the kind of solder you send on a suicide mission and the son of a bitch will come back just to spite you. He’s a survivor.”

Hackett did not seem convinced. “He must have some serious emotional scars after watching everyone around him die, not just once but twice.”

Udina nodded, but Anderson just shrugged. “Every soldier has scars.”

The room fell silent as each of the men considered the options in front of him. Udina continued to scroll through the data. He did not like much of what he saw, but there were a few notes that gave him some semblance of hope, as well as what he considered the most important thing. He knew damn well Anderson had been steering them toward Shepard for the last two hours, half his speech prepared and held ready for it. Udina did not like when soldiers tried to play politician, but even with all of that Shepard had another ace in the whole that Anderson neglected to mention.

“Shepard is also the only one on this list with a recommendation from an active duty Spectre, is he not?” Several seconds passed as they all scanned through the list of names and their notes. No other candidates were flagged with such an endorsement. Udina looked over some of the records again and grumbled. “Is this the kind of person we want protecting the galaxy?”

Anderson answered instantly, predictably. “He’s the only kind of person who _can_ protect the galaxy.”

Hackett sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in thought as the other two looked to him for his verdict. The Admiral’s approval would push the process to its next phase, one way or the other. Finally, Hackett looked up at the other two. “Do it.”

Anderson smiled, not bothering to hide his satisfaction. Udina was less enthusiastic. He stood up with a groan, rubbing the small of his back. “I’ll make the call then.”

The other men rose, gathering up their datapads, notes, and other effects. Udina walked the soldiers to the door and the three of them shook hands before parting ways. Udina remained in his office. Grumbling at the stiffness of his back and leg he walked over to the terminal to inform the Council’s aids that the candidate had been chosen.


End file.
